Reduction
by jadeddiva
Summary: She has nothing save a weariness that rests on her shoulders from hours of work and little sleep, and a sour taste in the back of her mouth, a bitterness she has never tasted before. January – June 1997 in the life of Nymphadora Tonks. Complete.
1. January, 1997

_Author's Note: This came about last year when I was trying to write why I thought Tonks was portrayed as a moping glummy immature girl in HBP. The result was this, bigger than I expected and far more personal. Thanks to Claire and Jo for the betas, and please, as always, concrit welcomed and encouraged.  
_

* * *

**January**

Molly stirs her tea and glances at the clock, a habit Tonks has become accustomed to these dark winter nights. It's a routine, one meant to calm fraying nerves: Molly glances at the clock, then at her tea, then out the window, then a glance over her nose at Tonks before a sigh escapes her lips.

Tonks wishes for such regularity but, more than that, she wishes for what Molly has. She wants to grow old with someone she loves, bear children and watch them grow into teenagers and adults and maybe have children of their own. She wants the constant ache that exists when you love so deeply that the love permeates your bones and your body hums like a guitar string that's just been plucked with every breath you take.

But she doesn't have that. Instead, she has nothing save a weariness that rests on her shoulders from hours of work and little sleep, and a sour taste in the back of her mouth, a bitterness she has never tasted before.

There is a cake, half-eaten, on the table between them. Tomorrow will be Tonks' twenty-fifth birthday, and she will be spending it with her parents. Molly requested, if it wasn't too much trouble, her presence at the Burrow this evening for a small celebration. Kingsley, Bill, and Fleur joined them, and as she blew out the candles on the tiny cake, she wished that by this time next year, she'd stop crying herself to sleep each night. She missed the twenty-sixth candle – for luck – and isn't sure her wish will come true after all.

There's a knock at the door, and a security question, and Molly lets her husband in, chiding him for trailing snow on the floor. It's a game they play every evening, and Tonks catches a wistful look of happiness in Molly's eye. That is her cue, and so she excuses herself and exits into the cold January air.

That night, she traces the patterns of the rain that hits her window with the tip of her pinkie finger. Her breath fogs up the window and she draws a heart without thinking and when she realizes what she's done, she smears her palm across it, wiping the window clean.

If she's honest with herself, which is becoming a regular phenomenon these days, she'll admit she wasn't particularly attracted to him at first. He was funny-shaped, cardigans and bulky sweaters adding weight to his tall frame. He had scratches and scars and a peculiar mustache and more than that, he was old, much older than her. He wasn't anything special, and he carried himself like he knew that very well. They would sit at dinner together, her bright colors contrasting with his dark browns and grays and as she took bites of her potatoes she'd think that they were such different people, and it was so _weird_ that they were partnered together sometimes.

She knows now that the sweaters covered up scars and long limbs and lean muscles which she can feel under her fingers as tangible as she feels the cold glass of the window.

That's another thing she never really expected. If she closes her eyes, she can almost feel his breath on her neck, the way his lips pressed underneath her ear, and she misses him. She misses how he smiled, and how he'd get embarrassed when she said something endearing, and she's grateful that they were partnered together because he was something special, for she may never have learned that if they hadn't spent time guarding that damn door.

When she falls asleep, she clutches the pillow like a lover, wishing for a better birthday next year, if she lasts that long. What she really wants she doesn't think wishing will bring.

* * *

She had known that he wasn't normal when she was reintroduced to him at her first Order meeting. She remembered his name, thrown about her parent's house after the incident two years ago at Hogwarts. They didn't know he was a werewolf until then, and it bothered them for weeks, not because they had let a werewolf near their only child but because it brought up bitter memories of happier years. 

She had met him when she was a kid, because she had gone to several of the Potter's Christmas parties (even the ones that were James-and-Lily-cohabitation parties), always getting so tired and falling asleep on her Mum or Dad's lap, and the last time, at the party when she was seven and Harry was just a few months old, she had fallen asleep on Remus' lap. He was younger then, and he was teaching children at a Muggle school. He had read stories to her and Harry, who she held in her lap more precious than any baby doll she had. Harry was playing with some toy, gumming it with his baby mouth and she sat, enraptured, by the way Remus spoke and the story he told. Soon, Harry had fallen asleep and she herself was drifting off, and she remembers, vaguely but surely, Remus ruffling her hair and pressing a kiss to the top of her head at midnight.

She told him this, after the first meeting, wondering if he remembered her. He noded, and smiled, and while he was so much older than he was before, he was still very nice and made her a cup of tea and laughed at all of Sirius' jokes because he was very polite. She remembered that, too.

_It's Sirius that told her about Remus' condition. It was a full moon, and when she stumbled in from her assignment to leave a report for Moody he was waiting for her, tumbler of Ogden's on the kitchen table, a stern look on his face._

"_How was duty?" he asked, barely able to keep the look of annoyance off his face as he spoke._

"_S'alright. Had to work with Dung, and I think he nicked my watch from my pocket while he was groping my arse."_

"_What's your watch doing in a pocket?" Sirius asked, and she shrugged. _

"_I get it caught on everything, I'm that clumsy. Doesn't matter, though, it was cheap anyway."_

"_Have a drink," Sirius said, while proceeding to drain his own glass. After he watched her take a drink, he said "Remus is a werewolf and he's locked up in a room because it's the full moon."_

_She eyed him, steadily, and said "You're shit for exposition."_

"_Pardon?"_

"_Just what I mean – you're shit for setting it up. You could have told me a long-winded story about how you knew this werewolf once, because it's a full moon and all, but you just cut to the chase."_

"_Felt it was better that way." Sirius frowned. "Why aren't you surprised?"_

"_It was all over the Daily Prophet two years back, the year you escaped Azkaban. When Hogwarts sacked him, and all."_

"_He chose to leave," Sirius remarked in a threatening tone, and she shrugged her shoulders. _

"_He would've been sacked. Anyway, my Mum and Dad were upset about it, because they had known him for years and never known and it was a shock to them, ya know? I had forgotten the name, but not the face and so stumbling in here, I knew. Fill 'er up, love?_

"_So what do you think about it?" Sirius asked._

"_He's a nice guy, for the most part," Tonks replied. "He's always been nice to me. And if Dumbledore trusts him in the Order, after Hogwarts – " _

"_And he does – "_

"_Then I have no problem with it. Shit, I get my own amount of flack for being a Metamorphamgus, and look at the Blacks – the lot of 'em, save you and Mum, are dark creatures." Truth was, she wasn't that fine with it, honestly, but what could she have done? He was a nice man, and she doubted she'd ever been threatened by him in wolf-form, so might as well not think about it._

"_Truer words have never been spoken," Sirius said, in mock salute. _

"_So why tell me now?"_

"_Remus wanted me to tell you," Sirius said._

"_Why didn't he tell me himself?" she asked._

"_Because he thought it would be better coming from me," he told her._

"_I…does he fancy me, or something?" she asked._

"_Remus doesn't fancy anyone, love. He's had a hard life, and it's difficult to find someone who can love you for all of you. He's…he says he's lived with this curse too long to have even a shred of hope left."_

* * *

She is twenty-five today, and she feels each of the years pressing down on her shoulders like twenty-five individual stones. 

She spends the day with her parents, brunch and shopping in Muggle shops in London, and Mum's cooked dinner, a roast and chocolate cake with cherries on it for desert.

"We need to fatten you up, love," her mother says, eyes large and brown and concerned with the fact that her daughter seems to be shrinking right in front of her.

"Long hours, Mum," she replies, trying to find some justification to appease her mother. She doesn't want to tell her that she forgets to eat, or that she doesn't feel hunger anymore. Her father nods and she eats her entire piece of cake, because if she doesn't, there will be more questions.

The Ministry has appropriated a house for the Aurors in Hogsmeade. She has her own room, and bath, and they have some house elves to cook and clean for them. It's not her flat in London, but it could be worse. She's grateful for some semblance of normality in these troubling times, even if the rules of their new household are a little frustrating.

"No bright colours, Tonks," Dawlish told her one day, when she returned from duty with green hair. He went on to explain about how she's an easy target, being i special /i , being Bellatrix Lestrange's niece and all. She didn't find it particularly convincing then, and has only come to accept it now because she doesn't care how she looks these days, since she's not impressing anyone.

When she comes home, she finds that in her post is a small box, without a return address. She sets about to opening it outside, so that if it's cursed or something, she won't take the house down with her. Instead, she's surprised to find a large bar of chocolate, not Honeyduke's but something Muggle, she thinks, and a smaller box. The smaller box contains a tiny pair of earrings, studs really but with brilliant pink stones that reflect the light from nearby houses and shine beautifully. The chocolate has a note on it that says _for the Dementors_, but she knows what he means.

She doesn't need a note to know who it's from, but she's a bit frustrated because this is not right – he should not being doing this. You do not do things like this for the girl whose heart you have broken and whose heart breaks again when she packs up the smaller box, and writes a note. _You really shouldn't be doing this, _she writes, _and I can't accept the earrings. I'm keeping the chocolate, though. _

She leaves it for him at the Burrow, and in two days there is a reply, sent to her by Molly.

His reply is simple. _I thought you'd do that. Happy Birthday, nonetheless._

"Fucking daft prat," she murmurs, taking a bite of her candy and that it's not fair at all. She blinks away the tears before Molly can see them, though she knows very well by now Molly will say nothing at all.


	2. February, 1997

**February**

She kissed him on New Year's Eve. He kissed her in the frozen foods section of a supermarket. They made love awkwardly the first time, old bones and young limbs struggling to find a rhythm that matched. Eventually, they did, and by July, when he left, they had perfected about a half-dozen positions.

In November, he told her this was all rubbish, and that he couldn't go on trying to have a relationship with her that just wasn't working for him. She didn't want to tell him that, technically, they weren't in a relationship since he left for the werewolves. Yes, they had sex a few times and yes, allegedly they cared for each other, but relationship? No, not really, not with death breathing down their necks. They had to be practical.

Or, rather, they tried to be practical. She tried to shut it all up, push it all out, focus on the tasks at hand, but she'd come to the Burrow for dinner and they'd hold hands under the table, and kiss in the garden and sometimes he'd stop by her flat in London to take a shower and she's slip in, hands on his waist tracing the path of the water trickling down his hip, tasting shampoo on his lips and feeling the individual tiles pressed into her back while he kissed his way down her throat. But it wasn't a relationship, they would say, it was just mutual affection.

So it was news to her to hear that he considered this still a relationship, and that he was dumping her, and so she asked if he was gay (no) or interested in someone else (again, no) or mourning Sirius (good heavens no – what shit was Dung feeding her?) so what was the deal?

"You're too young for me," he said finally. "You're far too young, and too foolish. I can't be bothered with this lunacy anymore, not when there's a war going on."

She wanted to say _we already discussed this _and _I have no idea what you're getting at _but she bit her lip and nodded instead. She felt weak and slow, and cried on Molly's shoulder for an hour before Molly sent her upstairs to sleep.

That was the only explanation she got, and it was the first time she was ever told she was too young for anything. She may be clumsy, but she's very serious and bright, and took all the N.E.W.T. level classes she could. She thinks it's a coping mechanism to make it easier for him but the darkness these days makes it harder to see the distinctions between truth and lies.

She avoids him like the plague, skipping dinners at the Burrow and crumbling letters he sends on occasion. She's not sure if she's too proud to ask for other explanations, or afraid at what they could be.

She's relieved, though, that the rumours about him and Sirius at Hogwarts are false. That was a bit creepy, actually.

* * *

She hates St. Valentine's Day with a passion, has hated it ever since Charlie Weasley broke up with her in fifth year by snogging that Ravenclaw cow Matilda right in front of her. She spilled pumpkin juice down the back of his jumper, and with her friends (who did not like Charlie anymore) charmed his mattress to be freezing-cold. Flitwick himself had to get rid of it (this was a testament to their inexperience, not the competency of the prank at all).

Molly invited her over to the Burrow so she wouldn't be alone, and she thought about not going, but Kingsley twisted her arm and threatened to make her go in a petrified state. He had stopped by after work the day before and had not like what he had seen, apparently.

"It'll be good for you to get out and have a decent meal," he said.

"Bill and Fleur will be disgusting and with the current state of my life, I'd rather not be around a disgusting couple," she had argued.

"Moody's coming, and if Mad-Eye Moody doesn't kill a mood, I don't know what does," Kingsley said with a smile.

So she's sitting in the Burrow, taking small bites of Molly's excellent stew. She's grateful to have something decent to eat, as she can't cook and neither can the others, and the house elves, despite being efficient, can only cook three things. It's also nice to see people other than the Aurors she works with, even if Bill and Fleur are being revolting despite Moody and his creepy eye.

"How's Hogsmeade, Tonks?" Arthur asks, and she swallows her last bite.

"Could be worse," she tells him. "The Dementors usually stick to the perimeter, but with all the Valentine's Day nonsense, they're lurking closer and closer and we've had a couple run-ins with them this week. Thankfully, though, there's been no dark activity of late, so it's getting a bit boring at times."

"Boredom leads to lack of responsibility," Moody points out, launching into a lecture on constant vigilance which she's heard before. Kingsley talks about his work with the Muggle Prime Minister, and Tonks sits back in her chair, full and happy. When Bill makes a joke about goblins and Americans, she smiles, the first real smile she thinks she's had in months. It's nice to be around family, what she considers the Burrow to be.

"Have you heard from Lupin lately, Molly?" Kingsley asks, and she feels the smile fade as a chill runs down her back and her stomach freezes. She feels like she's frozen on the spot, unable to move her limbs as Molly says no, not recently though she invited him for dinner on Saturday, everyone is coming, right?

Tonks shakes her head, because she's got duty that night and while Molly pleads for her to come, and Kingsley looks at her like he knows something's up, she excuses herself. She needs a stiff drink and a smoke and a good cry but she only gets a cry because she's out of liquor and cloves and is too tired to go get anymore.

She thinks all of this is bullshit, dying at the mere mention of a name. She thought she was bigger than this, better than this, but maybe she's not. Maybe she's in love with him, or maybe she misses him, or maybe it's both. Lately she's been wondering if their definitions of _relationship _were different. Where she saw affection and devotion and maybe love, he saw sexual satisfaction and companionship.

It's easier to be angry over being used than it is to be angry over never being loved. At least, it's easier to focus all of your anger on being nothing more than a toy than not being enough for someone.

* * *

If the Order didn't know they were romantically involved, they at least knew they were sleeping together. Grimmauld Place was not that large, Molly and Sirius too meddling for things like Nymphadora Tonks sleeping in Remus Lupin's room to go unnoticed. For the most part, they did not speak about it, and Dumbledore did nothing to dissuade them. Snape would smirk a bit more, but that was the most of it.

Of course, when it happened to go on for more than a few days, or weeks, and turned into several months, Molly would slyly insinuate things like marriage and family to Remus, and Tonks would watch his face pale and wonder if it was just sex, just feeling something when you felt nothing most of the time.

Kinglsey asked her one day if she cared about Remus, or if it was just physical. She knew herself that it had taken Remus months to get up the courage to show any signs of intimacy with her, let alone kiss her, and so she told him that it was a relationship, and that she did care about Remus. She did, more than she ever expected, because there was something about him that made her feel comfortable, like your favorite jumper or pair of jeans.

It was a horrible analogy, but the most she could work out of it was that she felt like _Tonks_ when she was around him. She felt comfortable in her skin when she was with him, and that was very important for someone who could be anyone and anything. Sad thing is, though, she thought it worked for him that way, but really, it didn't.

It's more obvious in retrospect, hindsight is twenty-twenty, clichés are for the rich and unimaginative, and Nymphadora Tonks can't help but think that love to something that everyone wants but not everyone will have. That's cliché too, but sometimes, she thinks, that's the state of her life. She'll die alone with four score and twenty cats and fourteen hand-knitted afghans, reeking of gin and chamomile tea. If she survives this war, at least.

* * *

"Can I bum one?"

Rowena Proudfoot is standing next to Tonks, stomping her feet and rubbing her arms to warm up. Tonks takes a clove out of the pack and passes it to her, leaning forward to light the cig with hers.

"Ta," Rowena says, and she looks out over Hogsmeade. The sun is going down, and spreading rays of red and pink and orange over the village. They can see Hogwarts from here, and as Tonks exhales her breath comes out in a smoky trail drifting over the castle, or so it seems.

"Fucking freezing," she says. "I could use a drink."

They gravitate to the Three Broomsticks, talking as much as they usually do. Tonks doesn't know Rowena well, as she was a couple years ahead of her at Hogwarts and in Hufflepuff, if she remembers correctly. They live in the same house, but its polite conversation most of the time, the kind that comes with sharing utensils and household chores.

They slide into a booth in the back and order some firewhisky and Rosmerta brings it to them. They won't be charged for it, she tells them, because she knows it's hard these days._ Soldiers in the line of duty and all , _Tonks thinks. Free alcohol, and maybe free food. Free housing. Moderate income. During the Muggle World Wars, she remembers hearing, starving women in occupied territories threw themselves at soldiers to get rations and warm place to spend the night. Too bad men aren't doing the same for female Aurors. She's tells this to Rowena, who laughs and says "Fucking right."

Rowena launches into a story about a fellow Ministry worker who she's been seeing – "shagging, more like it" – who hasn't flooed her in a while. She has a rough time with men because being an Auror automatically seems to make you less feminine or something, and she comments on Tonks' mopey behavior and the absence of her multi-hued hair.

"'re moonin' over someone," she points out, and Tonks says "I hate that word, it's fucking trite."

They're at three drinks each by now, all of them big glasses and straight shots, and she's feeling talkative, so Tonks says "My cousin – on my dad's side, right? – he 'ad this friend of his, a schoolmate, an' he's older than me, m'cousin, an' so I met him at this family gathering, and we just clicked – me an' the friend, not me and the cousin 'cos that would be gross."

She's amazed at how easily her tongue slides around this story, this exaggeration of the truth. It even tastes right. "An' I really liked 'm. But he was…not so convinced that datin' someone younger than 'm was a good idea. Real introvert, really bookwormish. But I lov-liked him, a lot. And we ended up dating, then he broke up w'me a month or two back, fucking prat."

"Here here!" Rowena agrees, lifting her glass in salute. She's a bit sloshed to, and teeters slightly. Some of her drink spills out and lands on the table. "Men are such shits, but so damn hot too."

"Yeah," Tonks says wistfully. "He was pretty hot. An' good in bed. Goddamn." She slides down in the booth. "Man made me go weak in the knees by just lookin' at me like he wanted me, right then an' there." She closes her eyes. "Fucking prat."

"I dated this guy who was all about shaggin' in public," Rowena confides with a whisper, and starts to talk about how she got caught with her pants down in a park by a Muggle police-officer and how there were dogs and a botched _Oblivate _ charm involved. Tonks listens, eyes still closed, head nodding slightly.

She misses the sex as much as she misses him, and she misses him more than the sex. The bitter taste in her mouth from the alcohol mixes with the bitter taste from her story, and she remembers tonight he'll be at the Burrow, eating with the Weasley's. She wonders if she approached him, asked him for a favor, if he would oblige. Not much, just a good shag when she's drunk so she can wake up the next morning smelling like him. She'll be hung-over too, and so she'll be hating whisky more than him which makes all of it sound like a good idea.

It would work, she thinks, 'cept for when he refuses because sex is just sex and he probably…well, she's not even going to get into what he wants. She doesn't know.

"Rowena," she says, "If I say somethin' stupid, like 'm going to Molly's after this, smack me aroun' a bit. Cos the ex is there, an' a drunk-fuck would suck."

Rowena giggles, but nods solemnly. "O'course. But I think ya might be exaggeratin'."

"Yeah," Tonks thinks. "But still wouldn't be a good idea, ya know?"

Rowena nods. "We need t'go out an' drink more often, love."

It's Tonks turn to nod, and she does. It's nice to not be alone, to know someone else is having a shit time with men. "Right," she says, "Should do this again sometime."

When she lays her tired head on her lumpy pillows, even through the alcohol daze she realizes she actually had a real conversation with someone about something that wasn't strictly business, and how much she misses having someone to talk to about banal things. She really can't help the tears, because for the first time she realizes how truly lonely she is, and how greatly she wishes this war would end.


	3. March, 1997

**March 1997**

One night, limbs lazy and sated after lovemaking, his fingers slowly tracing circles on her ribcage, he said "I never thought I'd be here."

"Here?" she asked. She wasn't sure if he meant here, now, in the present or here living and breathing or here in Grimmauld Place, and she was not willing to gamble. Assumptions and gut-reactions were often inadequate for gauging the situation when Remus was involved, she had learned. Instead, she looked at shapes hidden in the wallpaper and waited for his answer.

"Yes," he said. "Here. In this moment. I never thought I'd be lucky enough to have this, being…what I am, and all." The last words are a sigh which pulls her closer with the movement of his body.

"This?" she asked, eyes meeting his brown ones before he looked away.

"Here, with you. A woman like you - I never dreamed there would ever be a woman like you in my life."

"I'm nothing special," she told him, but he smiled.

"You may not see it, but you are," he said, lips moving against her cheek. He placed a kiss to her forehead, his hand traveling down to rest on the small of her back. "You have many admirable qualities."

"How very nice of you to see that," she said, and he laughed.

"I don't mean to sound so foolish. I just…I don't think words can adequately describe how much you mean to me."

She smiled, her lips echoing the grin on his face. "A woman like me, huh?"

"Yes. Just like you."

* * *

She sips some bubby drink that Rowena's placed in her hand. It takes like lemon and something sweeter and it's not until she swallows that she can taste the alcohol.

It was Rowena's idea to go out and chat up some guys. They had the night off, and they were young, and fighting Dementors and patrolling Hogsmeade and Hogwarts was hard, hard work. It's more than just going out and drinking, though, and Tonks knows it.

"I'm tired of this shit," Rowena had said earlier, blowing smoke from her fag into the cold air of Hogsmeade. "I'm tired of being here, every day, and knowing that every day may be my last. I mean, I bloody well knew what I was getting into when I joined, but I just – I never thought it would come to this, again." She paused. "I lost an aunt and uncle in the first war."

"Everyone lost someone," Tonks said softly, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders as if to ward off the pointed look from Rowena, who seemed to now realize that if anyone was affected by the war, it was definitely Nymphadora Tonks.

She doesn't remember Regulus that well because, like the rest of the family, he snubbed her mother, and the memories she has of Sirius Before Azkaban are strikingly different than the ones of Sirius After Azkaban. And as for Bellatrix – she doesn't want to think about her.

She sips her drink, eyes searching the room for a face she knows she won't find. She doesn't know why she hopes that maybe, tonight, he'll be here, because that's stupid – he's underground, and they're at a Muggle bar. Maybe it's a good thing, she thinks, because she doesn't know what she'd say anyway (because everything she thinks she wants to tell him she knows won't come out when she does see him again).

Rowena's chatting up some cute Muggle, looking happy and flirtatious and Tonks knows she just wants someone to shag tonight. She understands where Rowena's coming from, though she's never been one for one night stands. There's sex and then there's _sex_ and she'd rather have it with someone who wants to be with her than someone who wants a fuck. The weariness in her shoulders is spreading to the back and numbness drips down across her chest like an ice cube on a hot summer day. She had hoped that coming here, tonight, would ward away the gloom but it's not working - at least, not yet.

Soon, Rowena pulls her into conversation with two Muggle men, and she finds herself eyeing the one with brown hair and brown eyes and similar features to someone _she should not be thinking about _ and then, he buys her a drink. They do shots, and he calls her _Dora_ and he's kissing her neck and he looks so much like _him_ that she just wants to give in.

The numbness is fading and becoming giggly excitement, his lips managing to thaw some of the coldness and she feels a bit weird but at the same time, it's nice to just feel something for a change. Before she knows it, she's in his flat, and they're, oh, he's kissing her, and she's never been the girl for a quick shag before but she keeps thinking _it is so nice to feel desired_. But he's nowhere near as good as _him_, in fact it's probably not good because it's not what she really wants which is _him _ and she feels empty so she bites her lip and fakes it because she's worried she might cry.

She lies in the bed for ten, twenty, thirty minutes, shivering because the window is open and she's too sick to move. The man is asleep face down beside her. She steps on the condom as she gets out of bed, and if she wasn't so disgusted with herself she'd be disgusted more but what's the use? She's already dirty. She dresses quickly, wipes away a tear, and sneaks out to Disapparate in the alley.

She's not sure where to go, because home doesn't sound inviting and she knows that Arthur's got to work late tonight for the Order, so Molly should be up. It's not even one in the morning but her head is throbbing and she could use a cup of tea.

The Burrow glows warm and bright, the lights from inside casting a soothing glow on the snow around the house. She's shaky from the alcohol and something that might be shock or could just be embarrassment. Molly will ask questions, she realizes suddenly, and she's not so sure this is what she wants, Molly Weasley acting like a mother after she's just gone and done something ridiculous and before she knows it the door swings open and she stumbles backwards into the snow.

"Fuck," she mutters, and there's a hand reaching down for her. She glances up, then freezes.

"Fuck," she repeats, pushing herself up and ignoring Remus' hand. She brushes the snow off, and realizes what a wreck she must look like – hair all mussed up, large marks on her neck, and she's fairly sure she reeks of sex, alcohol, and fags. She raises her eyes to meet his, her body shaking from the shock and the cold and the alcohol.

This is the first time they have seen each other since November, and the circumstances are rather shitty.

He can smell it, or smell something at least, because the small smile he had earlier has curled into a frown, and there's something in his eyes that she can't read and doesn't want to.

"Have fun tonight?" he asks, his voice cold as the snow that's gotten into her boots.

No. Nononononono he will not pull this shit with her, not now after what he did, what he continues to do. She gathers up her dignity and courage and turns away from him, taking few steps towards the Apparation point.

"What does it matter to you?" she asks, looking over her shoulder and taking a shaky step. "It's not like you're in love with me or anything."

His mouth opens, but she Disapparates before he can speak.

* * *

She waited two days, after the kitchen discussion with Sirius, to tell Remus that she knew. They were in the library. She had been waiting for the right moment, when his guard was down, and finally it had come.

_So I'm wondering…would it have been hard to tell me yourself?" she asked him. She closed the book and drew her knees into her chest, trying to look casual but sure she was failing miserably. _

_Remus looked over, confused for only a moment before shrugging his shoulder._

"_I don't know. Somehow, it seemed easier if Sirius told you." There was tiredness in his face that she had become accustomed to – he seemed to wear it more often these days._

"_I already knew."_

"_That's what Sirius said. I had expected that much. You are an Auror, after all." _

"_Doesn't change anything," she told him._

"_Hmm?" He was looking at his books again. _

"_Doesn't change how I think about you."_

"_May I inquire as to what you think about me?" he asked, eyes not lifting from the page he was staring at._

"_You're a nice man. A good man. Very polite, and always generally caring about others – far more than you should, really."_

"_Really now?" he asked, glancing up at her with an amused look on his face._

"_Yeah. You don't owe Dung shit."_

_At this he laughed, leaning back into his chair and looking up at the ceiling. "I think you're right. About Dung, that is. I'm not sure I'm any of those other things."_

"_Why do you say that?" she asked. He shook his head._

"_I'm polite, I'll admit that. And I try hard to be nice – don't want anyone having reason to dislike me. But I'm not entirely sure I'm you're right on all accounts…" He sighs. "But at least your opinion of me is reasonable, in some respects."_

"_You're very hard on yourself," she told him. He sighed again, and she watched his shoulders – so prominent through the thin material of his worn jumper – rise and fall as he inhaled and exhaled._

"_Someone has to be." There, that tight smile on his face. _

"_That makes no sense."_

_He smiled and she smiled back, unsure of what she was getting herself into. _

"_Do you think Sirius would hate us if we told him to cut his hair?" he asked and she laughed, the matter at hand forgotten in light of the shaggy-haired convict inhabiting the Master bedroom, and while she did not forgive him for changing the subject, she learned that things were never easy with Remus John Lupin. /i _

* * *

The next morning, she wakes up with a hangover and a horrible case of shame. It's invisible but there, sleeping on the pillow next to her and resting it's head on her shoulder when she looks in the mirror, hair limper and darker than usual, and it won't leave her skin no matter how hard she scrubs. She's not sure what she's ashamed of anymore.

"You," she tells Rowena at breakfast, "are a horrible influence."

Rowena looks confused, and so Tonks sits down at the table in their tiny kitchen, flicking her wand and pouring herself some tea. "I did something stupid last night."

"I did something too, except it wasn't stupid it was brilliant and I am satisfied," Rowena says with a smile, but Tonks can't look.

"I stumbled into the ex accidentally," she says, "on my way home. I think he thinks I'm a slag, now."

"That's ridiculous," Rowena says. "It's not like you're still together. You can shag anyone you like."

"But that's just it," Tonks says. "I'm not someone that shags just anyone, and I know he knows that."

"Like I said," Rowena repeats, taking a sip of tea, "it's not like you're still together. You can do whatever you like now."

Tonks narrows her eyes, glaring at her tea because while Rowena's right, she's also very wrong. Remus left her, but that doesn't mean he's not still there, somewhere, in her heart. She had thought she was getting better but, coming face to face with him and seeing something that had to be disappointment in his eyes, she knows she's worse off than she was before. Then, she could hate him for using her and love him for being a foolish martyr, but now, she's not sure if she hates herself more than she hates him for the mess he has made, if it will linger or fade. Shame and confusion grow with each inhalation.

Rowena is reading a book, turning the pages and immediately she sees another hand, this once lightly caressing the pages and bending the corners over gently because they are not his and he does not treat the property of others carelessly. She squeezes her eyes shut and concludes she is not hungover but in fact still drunk. Either that, or going slowly crazy.

An owl lands on the windowsill, a Hogwarts owl by the look of it, and Tonks isn't at all surprised to see her name, and an invitation to tea from McGonagall. It is a thinly-veiled message which means Dumbledore will be gone tonight, and an Order Member or two should be present to patrol the halls.

She hopes her partner won't be Remus. She excuses herself, and writes back, saying that she will be there at 8pm sharp. There is no reply. Rowena and the others are out patrolling, and she has an early shift tomorrow, so there is no one to hear her carefully-rehearsed excuses.

* * *

The halls of Hogwarts are always so imposing, the vaults above her are so strong and adept at holding out the darkness of night but she wonders if they can hold evil at bay, protect the students in their common rooms who are writing last-minute essays and playing Exploding Snap.

She is becoming more and more cynical with each passing day, which is not a good thing when she remembers how bitter Sirius was in the end. Bitterness can lead to madness, something else that runs in the family. She pulls Dumbledore's Invisibility Cloak around her just a bit tighter around her shoulders. It will not dwell to do on thoughts such as these.

She remembers her days here well, days spent in the company of Charlie and Bill Wealsey and other Gryffindors she doesn't talk to anymore. She remembers the cruel looks she'd get from the Slytherins, who knew her bloodline better than she and the weird looks she got when she'd accidentally morph in class. She had a good time at Hogwarts, in the years after the war when there wasn't so much terror as there was rejoicing. She wishes the children attending Hogwarts now had the same luck.

Her mind, despite remembering happier times, cycles back to the look in Remus' face, the presumption that she had slept with another man and – oh – that ridiculous indiscretion she barely remembers, she was that drunk. It makes her feel worse, not remembering the entirety of what happened though she does remember the man whispering _Dora _ against her neck and she felt like her heart was ripped in two, the places she'd patch together after Remus left bleeding anew in the dark of the strange apartment.

He was here, once. Twice, actually, seven years of school and then that one very bad year. She wonders what he did in those carefree days when he was young, wonders if he smiled more, wonders about the girls that he kissed and his secret dreams in Gryffindor Tower. To think that only years and stone walls separated their childhoods and she knows, most definitely, she did not dream of him or men like him when she was young, but wonders if he dreamed of girls like her and decides that yes, maybe, maybe not. It's all useless wondering, aimless nostalgia right now, thoughts designed to remind her of the shame she's feeling like some bizarre form of penance.

She can't handle it anymore, and leans against the wall, the cloak slipping from her grip and balling at her feet. She hates herself more and more with each passing second, and she wants to run and tell Remus that it was all a mistake, she was drunk but then she'll get that i _look_ /i again and why does it matter? She is nothing to him, nothing but a shag anyway and _fuck _, she hears footsteps. She turns and raises her wand.

Ginny Weasely is coming down the hall, carrying a pile of books. She stops, mid-step, then says "What's that thing you can do with your nose?"

Tonks laughs, and then starts to morph her nose so that it's long and beaklike, then short and scrunched-up like a pig's, and Ginny's posture relaxes.

"What did I teach you last summer?" Tonks asks.

"That throwing dungbomb's at the door would let me know about Imperturable charms," Ginny answers. She smiles and draws closer. "What are you doing here? Order work?"

Tonks nods, looking around. "I should be invisible –" she holds up the cloak that McGonagall gave her earlier – "but…how's it going, Ginny?"

She'd feel guilty about betraying Dumbledore's directive that she remain hidden, but she's beyond giving a shit what he thinks anymore, most of the time at least. Were it not for the fact that McGonagall expects much of her, she doesn't think she'd be here tonight (she would never let her former Head-of-House down).

Ginny sighs. "Shit, actually. It's almost curfew, isn't it?"

Tonks has totally forgotten the time, but she assumes it has to be that late and says "We better get you back."

They fall into step and while it's nice to see Ginny, Tonks can almost feel the tension coming in waves off the teenager like a botched spell and asks, "Shit, huh?"

Ginny nods. "Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away," Tonks replies, looking ahead for other students and danger.

"Did you ever have this friend – a boy, who's a friend – and one day you realized that things weren't as easy as you thought and that you might like him?" She kicks the floor with the toe of her shoes, and looks six, not sixteen, just for a moment.

Tonks' stomach clenches. Yes, that's happened before.

"Yes," Tonks says. "It's happened to me once or twice."

"Did you do anything about it?"

"I'm shit with men, Ginny," Tonks says, a bit angrily and then recovers. "Aren't you dating some kid named Dean or something like that?"

Ginny pauses for a moment, glancing over at her. "I take it Fred and George told everyone."

"Bill told me," Tonks says with a smile, and Ginny frowns, just a bit.

"Yeah, I'm dating Dean but…there's this other boy, and I like him. We've been friends for a while and now, it's just…I think he's looking at me differently. And I want him to keep doing that for."

She can remember exactly when the look in Remus' eyes changed to something else entirely, the way his body would arch away from her and yet lean forward, shoulders tense and straight but neck bending towards her. She remembers it clearly because she, like Ginny, spent nights dissecting it, wondering if his actions had secret meanings and if his words were really coded and saying i _I want you_ /i . She remembers it well, when things were easier and she didn't feel so old and sad, when there was nothing but smiles and the feeling of happiness wrapping itself around your bones.

She wonders if Ginny's talking about Harry, remembers the conversations in Grimmauld Place about Ginny's childhood crush, and Sirius later saying that Potters always love the redheads (allegedly James Potter's mom had auburn hair) and hopes that maybe it's true, because Harry could use something nice in his life right now.

"The question, Ginny," Tonks says, "is whether or not Harry feels the same way about you."

"I think he might fancy me," Ginny says, then stops. "Oh. Good one, Tonks."

"I learned from the best," she says. "Your brother Charlie. That's how he found out stuff about me." She misses her friend now, and wishes that she could see him, for there is much to tell and he always had a shoulder to cry on, just for her.

"Thinking about Sirius again?" she asks, catching Tonks off guard.

"What? Sirius?" Tonks asks and Ginny's confused as well.

"Harry said you miss Sirius…" Ginny says and Tonks shrugs. Harry said something similar to her during her last patrol, and she realizes she must be the popular topic at the dinner table here.

"Not really," Tonks admits. "I mean, no more than anyone else." It's the truth – she's sad Sirius is dead, but one year back doesn't replace all the years absent. There's been too much loss for all the sadness and anger to be channeled on one person.

"Oh," Ginny says, and Tonks watches her process this information carefully.

"I better leave you here," Tonks says at the staircases. Ginny nods. "And…just give it time. Men are especially messed-up creatures and it's no use pushing them." She's learned this the hard way, and feels like she might as well spare Ginny some of the bruises and pain.

Ginny nods again, and says "Thanks. I miss your pink hair," before running up the stairs, a blur of red darting between the changing staircases.

"So do I," Tonks replies. She slips her cloak back on, realizing she has three more hours of patrol and three more hours to wander these halls with nothing to think about but how much of a fuck-up she is.


	4. April, 1997

**April 1997  
**

Fleur Delacoeur is the only one in the Burrow when she arrives. She's looking at some catalogue, her pretty blue eyes and perfect features contorted in a look of concentration as she pours over the pages. She's only vaguely surprised to find Tonks standing at the door. 

"Where is everyone?" Tonks asks. It has been a long day, and she hoped to the Order meeting – or dinner, at least – would be underway by the time she got to the Burrow. Obviously, she is wrong which is a total pisser, if she's honest which she is often these days.

Fleur, with a casual air, responds "Not 'ere yet."

"Oh," Tonks says, and sits at the table. Once there, she realizes that Fleur is looking at wedding dresses, and expensive ones at that. She feels a stab of something in her stomach, regret or maybe envy, though not over Bill Weasley.

She remembers being young and wanting a to be married, have that gorgeous wedding and honeymoon and connubial bliss and all that. Now, she doesn't think she'll make it to her thirtieth birthday so it doesn't matter anyway.

Soon, others filter into the room, first Molly and then Bill, and Arthur, and soon Kingsley and Moody. They're making small talk, and she's paying attention as Moody talks to Arthur about a new amulet being sold to ward off inferi and then Fleur, suddenly, tells Bill how lovely she will look when she gets married and, Tonks, are you excited for whenever you get married?

She's caught like a deer in the headlights, heart beating a panicked tattoo in her chest and that dull ache returning again. She doesn't want to tell them the truth because that would make her look even more ridiculous so she shrugs her shoulders.

"I'm not the marrying type," she says softly, looking at the table. The lines traced by years of bored Weasley children are more fascinating than this conversation.

Kingsley slips into the seat next to her as Molly says, "Of course you are, Tonks. Don't be silly – you said you wanted a family one day."

"The girl's being practical, Molly," Moody interjects. "She's an Auror, and married to her job - besides, these are dangerous times and –"

"Doesn't matter," Tonks says, looking up at Molly with a sad smile. "It's just not something I've ever planned, really, so it's not a big deal."

"Hallo, Remus," Arthur calls out, and she turns to notice Remus standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her. Her heart pounds away. She smiles shakily, feeling like she's been punched in the stomach and turns back to the table, because she doesn't know how much he's heard and regardless, it's not a topic she wants him to join in the discussion. She wonders what would happen if she was to excuse herself from the table, but it'd take so much energy and she feels so weak right now.

Moody says something to Remus as he settles into a seat near Bill, and Remus takes off his jacket before sitting directly across from Tonks. She tucks her feet into the rung of her chair, since she's always kicking people under the table and doesn't want to touch him.

"The usual," he responds. She can feel his eyes on her like an artic wind blowing across her skin; in its wake there's only a burning heat and she's so tired of feeling like this. She refuses to meet his eyes through all of dinner, even when he talks about what's going on with Greyback's pack. She builds mountains out of her potatoes and picks at her food, like always, earning her a stern word from Molly. She does not look up to see the frown she knows marks Remus' face.

After dinner there is a meeting and after the meeting she's standing outside, smoking a clove and waiting for Kingsley to finish up with Arthur so they can Apparate together. He's got something for her at his flat, some information she needs to take to Dawlish the next morning and a handle of whiskey hidden under his sink which she plans on drinking.

"Got a moment?" she hears a familiar voice say, and she turns, dropping the cigarette into a watering can and shrugs her shoulders. She's a good actress – she has to be, with her talent – but she's not entirely sure that it'll work for him.

"I'm just waiting for Kingsley," she says, and Remus nods.

"I gathered, from your conversation after dinner."

"Yeah," she says. This is the first time she's gotten a look at him, more than just a glance, in nearly four months. He looks tired, and she feels bad, though she doesn't know why. After all, he might have a shit assignment, but he's making her life shit so it's all relative, she thinks. Even if he looks horrible and tired and he's got new scars and he's lost weight, she can't help but feel a little bit of warmth spread through her, despite all that's happened. It'll probably take years to draw him from her veins, something she knows would surprise him because he doesn't think he means anything to anyone.

"How have you been?" he asks, hands in his pockets, eyes glancing all around her but not meeting hers. "You look well."

"Thank you," she replies. "Happy Birthday."

He smiles, meekly, and ducks his head down like he always does. "Thank you."

"Sorry it's late," she tells him. "Did you have a good one? There wasn't a full moon, was there?" She hates herself for sounding so distant. She knew there was a full moon the next day, and knew that he was suffering the day before, weak and struggling, but something in her won't allow her to admit defeat of any kind.

"The next day," he says. "It was alright, given the circumstances."

"Yeah," she says. She wants another cigarette.

"And you? Your new man? I hope he's treating you well."

"New man?" she asks, then closes her eyes tight. Fuck. "He's not – I'm – I'm not seeing anyone." She lets her words hang in the air, spreading across the distance between them while she hates herself for being unable to lie to him. She never could – she loved him too much.

"Oh," Remus says, and has the nerve to look upset over something.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks, feeling something inside her snap. "What do you want? You obviously don't want me, and the more you keep trying to pretend we're friends the more ridiculous it gets."

The hurt on Remus' face is unmistakable, and she feels stupid. It wasn't supposed to come out that harsh but it did, because that is unfair but _goddamn it all to hell_ she's tired of him acting as if March April May June July and even August September and October did not exist. They did, and they were glorious for her, even though her cousin died, because she was happy and thought he was happy with her.

"I'm sorry," he says, in a tight voice. The door opens, and Kingsley steps out, her cue to leave.

She says nothing, turning to Kingsley, who raises an eyebrow before formally saying goodbye to Remus. She says nothing until they reach his flat, where she head straight for the sink, conjuring two glasses in the process.

"You and Remus okay?" he asks.

"I am fine, and Remus is a prat," she says.

"I've heard this before," Kingsley says, taking the glass she offers him. She downs hers in one gulp, feeling the liquid burn down her throat. It's a nice feeling, a feeling she can control and one that isn't forced upon her by any one other than herself. Sirius once said the same thing, and so she pushes the glass away from her. Madness runs in the family.

"I care, but I can't, or I shouldn't. If I worry about him, then I'll fuck myself up and it's not like I'm anything to him anymore." She sighs. "I'm just tired of him pretending everything is alright when it's not."

"It's the male self-defense mechanism," Kingsley says knowingly. "It's how we handle what we don't understand – feigning ignorance."

"You're all a bunch of prats, you know that," Tonks says with a genuine smile. The firewhiskey warms her stomach.

* * *

"You," Rowena says, "are moping."

"No more than usual," Tonks says, suddenly defensive. They are sitting on a fence outside of town. The days are warmer now, and little flowers are blooming along the fence rail and so after their shift, they come here to start drinking early. It's a vicious cycle, a coping mechanism but there's only so much of this sort of life that one can handle.

"That's true, but you're definitely moping. You run into the ex again?" she asks. Tonks nods.

"Went to a friend's to have dinner and he was there."

"Surprised?"

"No, I knew he'd be there." Tonks jumps off the fence and is surprised when she doesn't stumble and fall. "Fancy a pint?"

Rowena laughs, teeth shining in the sun and says "When do I not?" which makes Tonks smile too. It's nice having a friend to talk to about things, ridiculous things like boys and clothes that don't fit arses and how much they want this all to be over (this isn't exactly what they signed up for, after all). She hasn't had many female friends, so this is a welcome improvement.

They walk towards the Hogs Head and in the distance Tonks sees a bum stumbling along the street. But it's not just any bum, its Remus, she can tell from the way her stomach flip-flops when she sees his frame. He's heading towards the Hogs Head, but if she gets there first he won't go in, she knows. She hopes, at least, because she doesn't want Rowena to know Remus because that's a million covers blown at once.

She thinks he must sense her, or smell her, because he stops and ducks into an alley and when they pass she makes sure not to look at him. Aberforth, as always, is welcoming and gives them some pints and they sit in a booth in the corner, chatting when Remus does enter, going up to the bar and sitting down. An hour or so later, when they're sufficiently pissed, Tonks watches him go to use the loo and then goes to the bar.

"You should say something to him," Aberforth says and she shakes her head.

"No, that would blow his cover. He knows I'm here, right?"

"He's been staring at you every chance he could get."

"What's he in town for?"

"Wanted some home cooked food. Stupid fool, refusing charity –"

She places several coins on the bar. "I want to pay for his food and drinks."

To his credit, he says nothing, merely nods and when she turns to walk out with Rowena, she can feel two pairs of eyes on the back of her head.

* * *

"_No. Absolutely not."_

_She paused in the hallway. It sounded like Sirius and Remus quarrelling, and just as she was about to enter and tease them about being an old married couple, she froze at the next words._

"_Tonks is a very nice girl, Remus. I don't see-"_

_She heard Remus sigh, imagined him rolling his eyes. "That's exactly it, Sirius. You don't see anything. If you did, you'd see I'm not interested, and neither is Tonks."_

"_Tonks likes you, Remus. You two get along well."_

"_Sirius," Remus said, and his voice was laced with something that wasn't malice as much as it was sadness and pain. "We get along well, but that's it. Tonks likes me as a friend. Don't pretend to see something else."_

"_What about you? You're a shit liar, Remus John Lupin."_

"_I could care less about Tonks. She's a nice young woman, and a good Auror, but honestly Sirius, you cannot be…fuck. It's not fair to her, to try to match her with someone who-"_

"_You do care, you bastard, you do!"_

" – _who cannot possibly make her happy." His voice grew quieter, sadder if possible as he spoke the last words, and she heard movement in the room. Quickly, she rushed down into the kitchen, heading straight to the stove to put on the tea kettle._

_She didn't know what to make of the conversation, other than some lingering suspicions were now, undeniably confirmed, like the way he'd look at her when he thought she was absorbed in something else, or the way he'd linger after supper, and just other things, small kindnesses like cups of tea waiting for her or hanging her coat up when she came in cold from the rain._

_She heard the trampling of Sirius' feet down the stairs._

"_I heard," she said. Sirius stopped and she continued to fiddle with tea bags and mugs. "Tea?"_

"_I'm sorry," he replied. "Yes, please."_

_She shrugged. "What for?"_

"_I – I was going to ask you if you'd maybe go out with him, once, or something. Just get him out of the house, into female company. And the only reason I was going to ask was because, well, you seem to like him." _

_There is a nervous energy in her cousin these days, something she's seen in prisoners and she knows it's being trapped inside this house. Meddling in people's affairs is something he did not do before – not like this, for this is different than acting on instructions about people's secrets or searching for ways to mock Snape. This is sick boredom, she thinks, even if the idea isn't horribly repulsive._

"_I do like him," she said softly, back still facing Sirius. "I'm just confused about how I like him."_

"_Oh." Sirius looked at her. "Oh."_

"_Does he like me?"_

"_Not sure – thought he did. Remus…doesn't take to fancying. Never did, really, because he never wanted to rock the boat – just wanted to blend in. Not to say he didn't date around – he did. Pulled some girls too. But…cases like this…he's content to do nothing, say nothing, because he's afraid of upsetting things."_

"_But isn't that what life's about?" she asked. "Upsetting the balance, just a bit, and maybe finding that the new combination is better than the old?"_

_Sirius sighed. "I know that. But Remus doesn't see it that way. He's had a shit life and, well, he's learned – or at least believes he's learned – that he'd rather be miserable and keep a friend than be miserable and lose one."_

"_So even if he does like me in any way that is not familial," Tonks said, "he won't do anything about it."_

"_No, probably not."_

"_So if I like him, it's up to me."_

"_Pretty much."_

"_That's shit."_

_Sirius sighed. "I know."_

* * *

The days are long, and she is always so tired. The nights pass as she tosses and turns from one side of her pillow to the other, still trapped in thoughts and actions of the past few hours, days, weeks, months, years. She wakes talking to Sirius, only to realize he is gone, and sometimes she reaches out to touch Remus' shoulder, to slip an arm around his waist and her fingers brush against the cool pillow on the empty side of her bed. The bed grows colder, then.

The pillows are always so soft when she arrives home, falling face first into the cool linen and inhaling the fresh smell that seems to always linger, and her aching bones thank her. But she does not get a moment's piece, as it is. There is a tap on the window, i tap tap tap /i and she looks over to see an owl outside.

It is a letter from Molly, written in hurried scroll. Every word – there's very few of them – slows down time and she clutches the window out of fear and anger.

Remus has been injured. Please, come, quickly.

If it was a scratch, if it was not life-threatening, she knows they would not owl. But she also knows they would not owl if he near-death, they would come and find her. Perhaps it is a trick, perhaps a Death Eater has found the Weasleys and is luring Order members in.

She cannot ignore the summons: she is an Auror, and she can handle herself and if he really was hurt she'd never forgive herself. He might not be her favorite person but he's burrowed himself into her so deeply that his death would kill her.

She's Apparating to the Burrow before she hears the first words of Rowena's cry from the door. A tearful Molly Weasley greets her and behind her at the table sit Moody, Bill, and Fleur.

"Where's Remus?" she asks.

"Not here," Moody replies.

"He left when our backs were turned."

Remus does not like people fussing over him. On his birthday – the one they were together for – he asked her for nothing, and his cheeks flared as red as the Weasley children's hair when Molly brought out a cake for him. But later that night, he had no objections to her only present - a back rub and an easy night's sleep and upon waking, he had kissed her and smiled, saying that it was the best birthday ever because he got to wake up in her arms.

She really needs to stop thinking about the better times but sometimes, they're all that get her through the days.

"So you want me to go looking for him?"

"Don't have to look far," Moody says. "He's probably at the shack."

And he is, lying on the bed, the blood from his leg seeping into the dingy linens. Barely conscious, she can tell, he looks up at her and then closes his eyes again.

"You," he says, and she wonders if it's a plea or a pardon, a curse or a cry for help and in three steps she's by his side.

"Why did you leave the Burrow?" she asks, and he turns his head away from her.

"Didn't want Molly," he says softly, or so she thinks he says because it is muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah, she's not the best in these situations," she says. "I'm going to sit here."

"By all means," he replies and she sits down on the bed, crawling over him to get to the other side and automatically he adjusts his head to lay on her knee. He's so pale and she's so worried.

"She said you took a potion, but I'm going to give you two more and try to bind your wound," she tells him. He nods, and drinks the potion bottles she places at his lips like a child would and she can't help but run her fingers through his hair. He murmurs an appreciative phrase and groans when she slips down the bed. She rolls up his pantleg and administers to the wound, grateful to see it's not deep but merely multiple scratches.

"What happened, you crazy man?" she asks and Remus shifts on the bed.

"Fight," he says.

"You git," she says, smiling. "You're a horrible fighter."

"Know that. Couldn't help it."

She laughs and settles next to him on the bed. The heat from his body is scorching her, and she is surprised her clothing is not singed.

"Hey," he says softly, opening his eyes to look at her. She smiles, edging closer and his arms open to her, enveloping her. They still fit, the way they always did, and she thinks he must have bathed, or something, because he doesn't smell horrid - he smells as good as he always did.

"S'good to see you," he mumbles into her hair, and she wants to cry. She loves this man, even if he may not love her, and he hurts her so much she can barely breathe and yet she's still here, still loving him like she always does.

"You can't do this," she says softly. "I can't give you what you want, not when I don't know what it is. I can't, love."

He blinks, then his eyelids flutter close over his brown eyes and she presses a kiss to his forehead. She wants nothing more than to stay in his arms and to pretend that it is six months ago but she cannot. When he falls asleep, she slips out of his embrace and sends a Patronus to the school. She waits until McGonngall arrives and then leaves. She spends the night in the Burrow, in Ginny's old bed, trying to stop the tears.


	5. May, 1997

**May 1997  
**

When the smoke clears, they can tell it's all over.

Her body waits until they get into the Hogs Head, now abandoned at this late hour, until it stops pretending things are okay. The sobs are starting around her stomach and moving their way up, choking her with their intensity. Dawlish is there, arms around her waist, before she can finally get anything out and it's just a long wail, a cry of anger and pain and fear and she collapses into his arms. They both tumble to the ground and she presses her face in his neck. She doesn't care if he's just a colleague, not when she feels dampness on her forehead and the heaving rhythm of his chest.

Twenty-eight is too young to die, but the Death Eaters who struck Rowena did not seem to take that into consideration.

* * *

It is Moody that pulls the two of them apart, snarling something about constant vigilance before looking Tonks straight in the eye and demanding a question. She is startled but asks him about what he did in the Durlsey's kitchen and after a demonstration that brings a sad smile to her face, he Apparates her out of Hogsmeade and to her London flat. 

"Take a shower and get yourself together," he tells her. "The Order will be here in half an hour."

She obeys meekly. The hot water does nothing to stop the chill as she leans her head against the cool tiles.

It could have been her but it was not. It could have been any of them, or none of them, maybe a townsperson or a student or an Order member. It could have been anyone.

She's never lost a colleague before in the line of fire. Sure, she lost Sirius but she was unconscious for most of the aftermath and whatever she couldn't handle with alcohol she handled by shagging Remus, which isn't going to happen now. Besides, Sirius didn't die from an i Avada Kedavra /i to the chest. His eyes didn't go wide as the words were spoken in silent plea for help which wasn't going to come soon enough.

He died peacefully, for all they know.

There is a knock on the bath door, and a few words and then a voice, loud and clear in the steamy room.

"Tonks," Remus says, "people are starting to arrive."

She peeks around the curtain, surprised to see him. He's holding out a towel, averting his eyes from the curtain.

"Molly's not here yet, and I think they figure I've probably seen you naked," he says and she can see a small smile play on the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks," she says, taking the towel and quickly wrapping it around her body.

"I hate to ask but do you mind if I –" he gestures to the shower, and she notices the dirt on his face which is growing darker the longer he stands in the steamy room.

"Of course," she says and he smiles as she walks out, into her room.

There will be no end to shocks today, she thinks. No end at all.

She dresses, and curls up on the bed for a moment, staring at the wall. There are a lot of ways to deal with death, they taught her. But right now, her head's swimming with all these ways, trying to figure out which ones will fit her. She's tired, and her head feels like a jumbled mess, and it's not until she feels a tap on her foot and turns to see Remus in the doorway, wet hair pressed against his forehead, that she realizes she's been staring at the wall for at least ten minutes.

He says nothing, smiles, and leaves and she sits up, brushing damp hair from her face. Rowena likes to tease her about – liked. Liked to tease her. Fuck.

Molly and Arthur look at her with sad eyes, and Bill and Fleur do not look at her at all. Kingsley holds a class out to her, which she takes. She's so distracted, she doesn't know it's firewhiskey until the sharp, acidic aftertaste fills her mouth.

"Fuck," he says, and she nods, and then he hugs her. It surprises her, since Kingsley's not affectionate – it's not very manly, she assumes – but she's grateful for the gesture.

"First year out," he whispers in her ear, "my best mate from training got killed. I know how it feels."

She smiles weakly, and Molly gestures for her to come and sit down on the plush sofa next to her. She's not sure where all these chairs came from. They must be conjured. Molly holds her hand and then Dumbledore and Snape arrive. Dumbledore gives her a sad look, and sits down. Remus sits next to him, but his eyes never leave Tonks' face.

"There has been an attack in Hogsmeade," he says, but they already know.

"The Dark Lord," Snape says, "has been keeping an eye on the village of Hogsmeade as a foothold, if need be, to Hogwarts. The attack today was one of several that may come in the next few days as they begin to test it's defenses, see how strong the Aurors are, and whether or not they can make any headway. It wouldn't have to be much – several Poly-juiced men and women, or several under the Imperious curse – but it would provide a problem."

"I'll talk to Scrimegeour," Moody says, "see if we can't get more Aurors there."

"He'll probably want to anyway," Kingsley says.

"How many were there, Nymphadora?" Dumbledore asks quietly. He is the only one, save her mother, McGonnagal, and on rare occasions Remus, that can use her given name without eliciting scorn.

"There were five," she says. "We should have been able to handle-"

"No," Moody cuts in. "Now is not the time for that," and looks to Dumbledore. "What now?"

"The Ministry will add more Aurors. They will worry about Hogwarts, as well they should." He shifts nervously. "We will need to be on our guard."

She is grateful that they do not ask questions of her, and is interrupted by an owl post fluttering at her window. It is a note from her mother. Thankfully, Moody thought ahead to let Andromeda know her daughter was safe, sparing her from a howler.

Rowena's mother must be receiving a completely different letter, and maybe a visit. Maybe more.

She hears movement behind her but does not turn to look until she hears clinking glass. She's left with Remus, who stands awkwardly near the chair.

"Care for another drink?" he asks, glancing up at her. She shrugs.

"Might as well. 'm not goin' in tomorrow."

He smiles and goes into her kitchen, returning with a bottle of whiskey.

"You have a tendency to stare into space these days," he remarks, filling up her glass and then adding some to the one he's holding. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She doesn't, at first, though two glasses later they're sitting side by side and she's babbling to him about how much Rowena meant to her, how she's never had a close girl friend before ("no pillow fights, then?" he remarks, earning him a smack) and it was nice, for a change. She talks about how she's afraid of death, and dying, and how she can't feel anything but feels everything at once.

"That's how I felt," he says, "when James and Lily – "

"Yeah." She squeezes his hand, and he lifts them to his face and kisses her knuckles.

There's something about Remus when he drinks that makes her always want him so much more. Something about the way his eyes light up and his face gains some color and before she knows it, she's kissing him.

Kissing him is comfortable. She never wants to give this up again, and when he pulls back she says "Please. I just want something other than being sad" and he agrees, willingly, pulling her into his lap and running his hands up her sides.

Everything is familiar and so much better than she can ever remember it as he lifts her up and takes her into her bedroom. There is skin on skin – i oh how she missed_ this _and she can't get enough of his hands on her body, lips pressed against her throat tracing a path down to her collarbone, knees and thighs brushing. She's drowning in all of this, head spinning from the alcohol and she's loud, so loud the neighbors would be pounding if there weren't enough charms to keep noise in. He's rough but she wants it that way, pushing his shoulders into the mattress as his fingers dig into her hips, urging her on and on.

She throws her head back and sighs, feeling her lips tremble before she falls forward and he's kissing her like she's the elixir of life or something, kissing her until she can't breathe and then holding her to him until she feels like she's burning up from the alcohol and body heat.

She rolls over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. When she was a child she cut stars out of paper and placed them on the ceiling. Her mother made them glow at night and she'd trace the constellations with her finger tips while pondering her destiny, or when she'd kiss a boy, or things like that. There are no stars on this ceiling, and Tonks desperately wishes for something other than Remus to look at.

They shouldn't have done that, she knows, but she cannot help the fact that he was here and she needed something to forget, just for a moment, that death is on her doorstep, that things are horrible and may never be right again. She wanted a vessel to store up her bitterness and she has chosen him, not entirely unjustly. She has used him as he had used her, because it was the way of things. Mobius strips and karma and circles, all coming back to haunt you.

Shit, she's drunk.

She notices his breathing evens out, and wonders if she should stay here tonight. She thinks it would be a mockery, in many ways, of what they had (but can it be any more ridiculous? Probably not). She should go back to Hogsmeade, since she has to work tomorrow hangover or not. Hopefully there will be more Aurors.

Honestly, she doesn't want to wake up next to him tomorrow morning. She wants to hurt him in ways only she is capable of the way he's hurt her, because the universe is not fair and neither is Nymphadora Tonks.

She gets up, and dresses, pulling her hair back from her face. She thinks she can Apparate without splinching herself, hopefully. She packs up some spring clothes and her old ones in a bag.

There's movement under the sheets. "Where are you going?" he asks, groggy from sleep. She smiles, sadly.

"You can stay the night here. Lock the door on your way out."

"Dora – Tonks – what – ?"

"You didn't think we'd actually cuddle after that, did you?" she asks, anger and sadness giving her a power she's never known before. "I'm going back to Hogsmeade."

"I can leave."

She smiles again, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "No. It's my turn."

* * *

Dawlish is sitting at the kitchen table when she arrives, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand. He looks at her warily. 

"What did you do at the Auror commissioning ceremony?" he asks. She grimaces.

"Tripped over my robes on the way to get my badge," she says. "When did we first meet?"

"Your second week on the job, at the Leaky, when Marian took us all out for drinks after that Gina Smith case."

She slips into the chair across from him.

"Scrimingeour wants us to take a day or two off. They're sending some new Aurors in."

"He's being nice for a change," she replies, reaching for the bottle. The nice haze she had going has been clearing on her way over here and now that's she's home –

Home. Remus. Fuck.

"Where's Savage?" she asks, and Dawlish sighs.

"London, where I thought you were going to be, Moody dragging you off like that." He pauses. "Order business, right?"

She has forgotten, these past months, that Dawlish was at the Ministry that night. It has been a gradual thaw back into genial colleagues but now, she thinks, everything's broken again.

"Yes," she replies, passing the bottle back to him. He takes another drink.

"Must be nice, to have something like that." She thinks he doesn't understand what the Order is, and what it does, but she could be wrong.

"Sometimes. It's not like we're safe. I mean – Sirius died last year. People I care about are always in danger," she says. "Like us."

He hands the bottle back to her. "Like us."

"Did," she starts, "did someone go tell Rowena's parents?"

"Scrimigeour," Dawlish tells her.

"Good."

There's silence, as the full weight comes down on Tonks' already-burdened shoulders. There will be no more good times in this kitchen, no more laughing in the hall or girlish confessions in booths at the Hogs Head. There will be no more Rowena, because she will be dead and buried like they all very well may be.

"She was a damn good Auror," Dawlish says. Tonks nods.

"To Rowena," she says, taking a drink from the bottle.

"To Rowena," he echoes.

* * *

Her mum fusses over her the next night, making all her favorite food and hugging her until she can't breathe.

"Dangerous times, Dora," her dad says and she smiles wearily. She did not sleep last night. Instead, she dreamt of Remus, and when she woke she felt oddly guilty, like she had betrayed Rowena in some way.

When she returns, there is an owl perched on the porch rail.

_Can we talk?_ the message asks and she rips it up. She does not think she needs to give him any response.

Kingsley stops by, and then Moody, and they ask how she is doing and bring biscuits that Molly has made for the now seven Aurors that are stationed here.

Rowena's parents arrive two days later and collect their daughter's things, and both Dawlish and Tonks tell them how much she meant to them. Tonks can't help but hug small, pretty Mrs. Proudfoot, whose blue eyes are filled with unshed tears and ringed with red.

"Be strong," she whispers to Tonks. "We can win, in the end."

"We can," Tonks agrees.

There is another owl the next day from Molly, asking how she is doing and saying that Remus left her a letter, should she forward it or would she like to come round for dinner tomorrow night instead?

She comes round, and does not read the letter but places it under a pile of books in her bedroom. The days grown warmer but she does not open her window for fear of stray curses. Every day, they change the protective wards around the village, and the castle and one day on a patrol of the school grounds, she spies Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter snogging near the lake. She smiles and moves on, invisible under her cloak.

* * *

_"Tea?" he asked, placing the hot liquid in front of her on the table. She looked up, smiling at him._

_"Thanks. You're up early."_

_"Never went to sleep," he said softly. "Can't sleep some nights."_

_She nodded, and he sat in the seat opposite hers. She sipped her tea, flavoured exactly as she liked it, and tried to formulate words. She has just finished her shift – her second, as she was pulling double duty these days - and Remus had been the only one up when she stumbled in. She wouldn't have it any other way, not with the new development of things. She had talked him into dinner one night which had turned into two more dinners and a walk around a park where he let her hold his hand._

_She was still waiting for the fallout._

_"Remus," she said softly, and he looked at her. "What are we doing, exactly?"_

_"You're drinking tea," he said with a soft smile, and then said, "I'm not entirely sure. It probably shouldn't go on."_

_"Any reason involving me, personally?" He shook his head. "All about you, then?"_

_"I just – there's a war going on, and people die and – I'm a werewolf."_

_She shrugged her shoulders and finished her tea. "And I'm going to sleep. If you have no plans for the morning beyond some light cuddling with a twenty-something girl who thinks you're wonderful, werewolf and all, you might want to join me."_

_She started towards the door, feeling his eyes stare at her in shock until she heard the slow scrape of the chair against the floor. She continued up the stairs, and when she went to close the door to her room he was in the doorway._

_"It would be rude to turn down an invitation…" he trailed off, looking a bit nervous but with a bright fire burning in his eyes. This would be a slow process, she realized, but she had a feeling she'd enjoy it._

_"Of course," she responded, and she closed the door behind him. She walked to the bed, sliding beneath the sheets and arching her eyebrow for him to join her. He curled up behind her, a bit awkwardly, his arms coming to wrap around her chest and she was surprised how well they fit together._

_"Now, just a nap as I'm exhausted. No funny business. Keep your hands above the waist and we'll be fine."_

_He laughed, exhaling as he did, breath tickling the hairs on her neck and she shivered. If she wasn't so tired, she might not get any sleep but as his breathing turned deep and even – now that she was home, she knew – she found it wasn't so hard to fall asleep._

_Waking up would be the best part, anyway.  
_


	6. June, 1997

**June 1997**

She is one of the first to leave; she's not needed here anymore. She's not sure where to go, so she walks around the castle though she can barely see what's in front of her through the tears. Eventually she just gives up, finding a side hall and sinking to the ground.

She cannot believe what she just did. She cannot believe she said all those things, but after months and months of this shit and death and a thousand horrible things she couldn't take it anymore. It came out before she could stop herself, a desperate plea with feelings she wasn't sure she'd ever express again, least of all to him.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

If this is how it was going to end, she's surprised she made such an end. She figured a slow fade would be how it would work. Not this. Fuck, not this.

And Dumbledore is dead. Killed by Snape. Somehow, that's so peripheral to her life right now and to the humiliation taking hold of her body. All she can think of is how big of a fool she is and how she wants to curl up and die right here, maybe turn into dust. Is it possible to cast an Unforgiveable curse on oneself? They never covered that angle in Auror training.

She sees the trouser leg before she hears him speak.

"I think its best we leave," he says and she nods, waiting for him walk away. She doesn't want to deal with him right now.

"Are you coming?" he asks and she looks up at him. He looks so old and tired and she still loves him but she can't, anymore, not after tonight.

"I don't know," she says quite plainly. "I don't think it's the best idea."

"Oh." He nods, and turns to leave. She hears his footsteps retreating down the hall and struggles with what's going on inside her.

She could run to him, beg for forgiveness. She would be rebuffed.

She could do nothing, and say nothing until she sees him at the meeting scheduled tonight.

She could just curl up and die right here.

She chooses to do nothing. She's said her piece, and there's nothing she wants to take back except the delivery. If she can leave him behind knowing one thing, it's that she told him what she really felt, that she loved him and always will love him despite all his supposed shortcomings. And that, she thinks, is the truest sign of maturity she's ever mustered.

_Maturity?_ She needs rest badly.

She stands up and stretches. She must have been there for over an hour, the way her limbs have cramped and there are murmurings of students in the hallway. It must be around eight in the morning, or so.

As she leaves, she sees a familiar trouser leg poking out from a stairwell and stops.

"I thought you left," she says quietly and he looks up, startled out of his thoughts. He shrugs.

"You look like shit," she tells him. "Come on, you can sleep at the house for a bit, until the meeting. Get some food, too."

"I…" he trails off and she smiles sadly.

"We're Order members," she says, "and if nothing else, friends."

"I thought you said our friendship was a charade," he says as he stands.

She grimaces. "I was angry when I said that," she says, looking away, "and if the only way I can have you now is as a friend, then I'll take that over nothing."

"You have every right to be angry," he tells her. She shrugs.

"So do you."

"No," Remus says softly. "I deserved everything you've ever said to me."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation now," she says and he laughs.

"Isn't this the perfect time?"

"I'm sorry. But we have other things to worry about than the fact I'm a total fool." She shuffles her feet and doesn't want to look at him, so she smiles at the ground.

"Let's go," he says, and follows her down the passageway to the Willow, through the shack, up to Hogsmeade.

She sits on the bed, and gestures for him to take the chair. He sits down slowly, and she thinks that, once again, he looks far older than he really is. The world is chiseling wrinkles into his face and cutting scars across his flesh and that's not fair for someone with such a decent heart-

No. Maybe not decent, but for the most part, kind and caring. She cannot help that she was what he needed then, those months ago, but everyone makes mistakes.

Remus sighs loudly, and buries his head in his hands.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" she asks, knowing she sounds insensitive so she smiles when he looks up. "It might ruin the manly image I have of you. Unless you want me to offer you comfort because – "

Remus sighs again. "It seems like before anything else happens, we've got some things to discuss."

"We have nothing to discuss –" she starts but he interrupts her.

"You didn't seem to think that several hours ago at Bill Weasley's bedside." His eyes remain fixed on hers, and she can tell that he's angry – and rightfully so – for what happened those hours ago.

She swallows. "I already said I'm a fool, I don't need you to –"

"Actually, Dora, I think you need me to tell you everything on my mind –"

"You're a vindictive shit, you know."

"- and you can tell me everything on your mind. We can't ignore the elephant in the room anymore."

"But you're so good at that," she says and he smiles.

"Who's vindictive now?"

"You first."

"Actually, I think you should tell me first, in case I need to counter any ridiculous charges you make."

"Fine - whatever." She takes a deep breath and suddenly all the speeches she has planned every day in the shower since he left seem inadequate. "I don't know where to start."

He doesn't say anything, just nods.

"I guess," she starts, "I just really…loved you. Love you, even, in some way. And it really hurts to know that you don't feel the same for me." The words seem hollow, echoing in her tiny room and making her feel younger than her years. She's been feeling these things for so long that saying them makes her feel ridiculous. But the truth, however painful, needs to be told and she's ready to accept it - _all_ of it.

"I never said that-"

"You said being with me was foolish, Remus."

"But I never said I don't love you." He stands up and looks out the window. His clothes are so threadbare, she thinks, patched and repaired and worn for all those months with Greyback and the pack. For some reason, it makes her want to cry.

"You never said it either," she says.

"I just thought it was implied," he says, turning. "I love you, Dora, as insane as that may sound to you."

"Can I finish?" she says, heart in her throat. "You may love me but you still left me. You pushed me away for months and then you'd do these ridiculous things like send me presents? Try to take some interest in my life? I just – I don't need mindfucks, least of all finding out nine months later _oh, you really do love me_."

"I'm horrible at relationships," he says, leaning on the window sill, "friendships, and dating. For the longest time, I was wrapped up in everything that my affliction brought with it, and I didn't notice people. And I certainly didn't understand why people would notice me. So naturally I tend to bugger it all up, every time."

She says nothing, nods for him to continue. She needs to hear this. And inside, that little place where she's been holding a shred of hope is growing bigger and bigger.

"When Dumbledore asked me to go with the pack, I was so incredibly angry that I said some really shitty things to him. i Horrible /i things, Dora, because for the first time in years I was – well, I was with you and I was happy and I knew that I could be killed or kill others and it just didn't seem fair to me. All that crap McGonagall said tonight about love being revered above all else by him and yet – I don't know. I was being selfish, but fuck if I wanted to go."

"You were being human," she says. "That's completely natural."

"Yeah," Remus concedes. "But I realized that I couldn't get out of it – I was going whether I liked it or not. And things started crashing down – why would you want to be with me if I could be killed? Why would I hurt you like that? And then - why would you want be to be with me to begin with? Just a lot of ridiculous questions I kept asking myself and I knew I couldn't be with you, and I couldn't give you any hope because honestly, love, you're much better than I am."

"Rubbish," she says, gesturing for him to join her on the bed. "But you did hurt me by all those ridiculous things. I was convinced you were using me for sex all those months." Her cheeks burn when she says these words, words that seem so stupid right now but were so real and forceful all those months before.

"Do you honestly think I'm someone who would do that?" he says softly, taking her hand in his.

"Wasn't sure. Everything was really hazy and I just –"

"I'm sorry. I did what I thought was best. I – killed people, Dora. I killed people and did horrible things because I had to – for my cover. Which is blown now, and Snape – fuck."

"You know," she says, "he did what he had to do, just like you did what he had to do. For cover."

"Knowing that makes it a little easier," Remus says. "I'm sure Dumbledore knew it would come to that. But I – I never apologized for what I said to him. Uncharacteristic for me, and he knew it and –"

"Yeah."

They sit in silence, side by side on the bed until she leans back, falling on the soft comforter and looking at the ceiling. Slowly, he lowers himself beside her and she takes a deep breath.

"I – " she starts but stops. "Look," she turns over, propping herself on her elbow next to him, "I think if we want to try this again, all of this, we should start off slow."

He quirks an eyebrow. "This?"

"You love me, and I love you, and all that ridiculous garbage that goes with it," she says. "I'd like to see if somehow this past year could be worked through – if we survive and all."

"And here I thought I'd confess my sins and you'd automatically forgive me and then we'd shag and I'd pop the question," he says with a dramatic sigh. She hits him and he pulls her towards him and she buries her head in his neck.

"I agree," he says. "Little tiny baby steps to see if this is what we both want. And if not -"

"Or if we die –" she adds.

He brushes a kiss in her forehead and she breathes in his scent, feeling tears well up in her eyes.

"Thank you," he says quietly and for a moment, everything is splendid and right with the world.

When she wakes later the day, she is under the covers and the shower is running. Her clothes are still on, and Remus' are a crumpled pile on the floor. She wonders if she can transfigure some of hers to fit him, but when he exits with a towel around his waist, she stops to look at the new marks on his chest and arms.

"So what I've been wanting to know," he says, "is about that time I saw you, in March. After –"

She picks up a pillow and buries her head in its fluffiness.

"Dora," he says, placing a warm hand on her back. "Seriously, I just need to know."

She rolls over and looks at him.

"I got ridiculously drunk with Rowena one night and made a stupid decision involving a Muggle solicitor who vaguely resembled you. Happy?" she asks and he nods.

"I just needed to know," he says. He sits down on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Why did you need to know?" she asks. "We weren't together then." It bothers her that he might possibly take offense

"It still hurt, to think that you had someone else in your life. I was jealous, I guess, that they could be with you when I couldn't." He smiles, half-heartedly, over his shoulder and she sits up. She leans her chin on his shoulder, their foreheads touching and it's just i so nice /i to be together, in any capacity, even if it's a shaky reunion.

"I was pretty lost those months," she admits. "I loved you so much and you didn't want me but you did and it was really hard and I just wanted to be young for once."

"So I'm the perfect choice, huh?" Remus asks. "You'll always be younger."

She laughs into his shoulder, biting it playfully and saying, "Yes, I can't just make myself younger."

"Touché," he says and she smiles.

"I just wanted to forget there was a war. I wanted to be my age and not worry about death and dying and stupid ex-boyfriends –"

"Hey!" he protests, turning on her. "I happen to resemble that i boyfriend /i …" he pulls her by the leg into his lap and she laughs.

"Whatever," she says, and then notices the drop of water running down his cheek and his scruffy chin down his bare chest and his hand is creeping up her thigh.

"Hey now," she tells him, "I do not think this is appropriate," but he nuzzles her neck anyway.

"Mmm," he says and she struggles just a bit. Now is not the time or place. They have to be somewhere soon, she knows, and they need to eat before the meeting. And…they can't do this, not now, not when all her emotions are so fucked up she can't see straight. Sex will not solve anything, or push problems aside. As much as it pains her to admit it, she'll have to be the mature one.

"Remus," she says softly, pushing him away, "no. Not now. I'm not in the mood." She slips out of his lap and walks towards the loo, turning to look at him once she gets to the doorway. He shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," he says and she smiles.

"Baby steps," she says softly, closing the door behind her.

It is dark when they return to her room – she has insisted her stay here, more because they're both so tired than any other reason. They have evade questions and sideways glances all evening, and she has told Molly that i No, we're not together /i because she doesn't know what she can call this. The tangible weight of his hand in hers is nice, as is the feel of his body pressed against hers when they hugged after the meeting, and the way he smells which makes her feel calm and collected.

"I'm going to wash up," she tells him.

"I thought you did that earlier," he points out. She shrugs.

"I – it just feels nice," she says and he nods. "There's some old pajama bottoms of yours in the bottom drawer."

"You kept my clothes?"

"Stole them last May," she admits, once again slipping into the bathroom to avoid him. As she slips her shirt over her head and starts the water running in the shower, she thinks about how easy that is, and why she's doing it. She's so used to being alone that two people – being with him most of the day – is crowding her head.

The water is hot on her back. She always thinks clearly in the shower, and so she lets it hit against her skin, the steam enveloping her as she tries to digest today. Dumbledore's death, despite its suddenness, seems to be part of a plan to her. At the meeting, she learned Moody and Kingsely had both come to similar conclusions, but despite the way everything fits – he's still gone. He's not going to lead them anymore, and the one person _he_ feared is dead.

Just like Rowena. Just like Sirius. Just like she could be, any moment.

But Remus is back, for what that's worth, and she thinks that will mean more in the oncoming days.

She feels hands on her hips, cool lips against the heated skin of her shoulder, and she's angry for a moment. They need to figure this all out, not keep rushing in where their feelings lead them. But his arms circle around her waist and pull her to him and it's nice to feel for a moment like she's safe, loved, protected.

She turns and leans into him, wrapping her arms around his wet torso and leaning her head below his neck, where it belongs she feels. He kisses the top of her head and pulls her tighter and she cries. She can't help it, things have been building inside her for so long that this – touch, him, everything – makes her break.

In bed, he kisses her exposed shoulder, hugging her tighter to him, like she'll be gone in the morning like everyone else. She's surprised at how well they still fit, despite all the changes they've been through.

* * *

They have fought over the past two days, disagreeing over everything and nothing. She's still angry he didn't say anything about how he felt earlier, and he's upset she's drinking so much, for reasons that are very worthwhile (rumours of madness in the Black family and all) but after what she's been through she thinks he's exaggerating the severity of the issue and slaps in across the face. She's tempted to apologize but she can't, because it's not fair and he pays for dinner later and holds her hand across the table.

It's trying, being so far away and re-establishing a rhythm that came natural months before. She's giving it her best effort because she thinks it's possible, it's just hard.

"You're not going like that, are you?" he asks and she turns around, hands placed indignantly on her hips.

"Why – is there a problem?" she asks.

"Your hair," he says. "I really hate the colour."

"Oh," she says. It hasn't occurred to her that she can or should change her hair color since she hasn't these past months, work and all, fear of Bellatrix and all. But there should be peace today – there has to be peace – and maybe…

"I haven't done it in a really long time," she says. "I'm not even sure I still can."

"He would have wanted it," Remus says.

She closes her eyes and concentrates and when she opens them, violent pink flashes before her eyes, from the tips of her hair to the roots, brilliant and lovely and for the first time in forever she feels light, not heavy, full of hope that she thought she had lost. 


End file.
